Alfred Hitchcock’s Women:

Hitchcock was well known for his casting choices, very often slender blondes. His treatment of these women was (and for some, still is) controversial - once describing his ideal choice as “the drawing-room type, the real ladies, who become whores once they’re in the bedroom”, he’d revel in throwing the heroines into perilous situations, lending support to the notion that he played to male voyeuristic, sadistic desires.

Interestingly, his male protagonists appear to ignore or marginalise their female counterparts (especially when you consider James Stewart in Rear Window and Vertigo). Often, it’s the women who are the more rounded, developed characters - our sympathies are with the girls, the real heroines of the Hitchcock movies.

Hitch liked to think his casting choices reflected the preferences of the females in the audience - evident in his deeper examination of the leading woman’s emotions over the course of each movie. By contrast, the male leads are often flawed, self-serving characters.

The image above shows Hitchcock directing some of his favourite muses:

1. Tippi Hendren
2. Kim Novak
3. Janet Leigh
4. Eva Marie Saint
5. Ingrid Bergman
6. Grace Kelly

flagonthemoon:movielove:shacknoir:

American Werewolf in London (1981): Probably John Landis’ crowning moment, this scared me stupid when I first saw it.

Groundbreaking at the time for it’s prosthetic effects (Rick Baker won the first makeup effects Oscar for his work here), it features one of the best transformation sequences ever put to film.

Where it works most effectively is in the early Yorkshire village sequences, then onto the cynical outsider’s eye of a (then) rather run-down London, replete with punks, tatty porn theatres and prissy policemen.

If it loses points for the closing act - a rather flat hunt for the monster - it scores highly for a stunning dream-within-dream sequence (featuring horrifying Nazi werewolves) and a genius mix of horror and uneasy laughs.

And it is very funny in places, especially Griffin Dunne’s turn as the protagonist’s increasingly decomposed ghost-buddy. Check out the remarkable, grusome face wound when he first shows up in the hospital, taunting his cursed friend - the way his tattered throat flaps about as he speaks… ick.

Anyone finding themselves alone on Tottenham Court tube station at night (it’s still possible) might want to forget the still-scary sequence featuring that station.

So, why am I mentioning it now?  Because it’s yet another classic movie greenlit for a remake.  Leave it alone, dammit!  It’s just fine as it is.

One of my favorite movies EVAR, this is a great review but it is missing one of my favorite random scenes in any movie. The porno movie they are watching is so absurdly hilarious I find myself quoting it all the time.

Thanks for the compliment! You’re right about the porno movie, it captures the silly farcical aspect of Brit smut.
Strange-but-true-fact: the mustache guy is played by Gypsy Dave Cooper, who was (is?) a male stripper in real life - he was booked several times at a club my Dad used to run! Makes me smile every time I see that sequence.
Movie Nerd Fact: The movie-in-a-movie is called ‘See You Next Wednesday’, a line that apprears somewhere in EVERY John Landis movie.

Raymond Chandler: The Long Goodbye

Raymond Chandler’s The Long Goodbye was to be the penultimate outing for his most famous character, Philip Marlowe.

Chandler was a writer quite late in life - his first book, The Big Sleep, was published when the writer was 51. Prior to that, he’d learned his trade via the pulp magazines of the day, writing short stories in the ‘hard-boiled’ tradition of Dashiell Hammett.

Marlowe develops in subtle ways over the course of the seven published novels; he’s a man of principle, adhering to a moral code.  This code is clear to the reader, without it being spelled out - it’s a chivalrous role, with Marlowe acting as white knight. The joy of these stories is seeing how that washes in 1950s L.A.

The gradual evolution of Marlowe can only be measured over the span of all seven books, but I think it becomes most evident in The Long Goodbye - and perhaps why I’d choose it as my absolute favourite in the series.  Marlowe’s indefatigable principles become his undoing; he’s a lonely man at the best of times, but in this story, he drops his guard and gets close to someone and is very soon unravelling.

Chandler wrote this story when his emotions were at breaking point - his beloved wife was on her deathbed, and he’d been burned by his experiences as a hotshot screenwriter in Hollywood. These influences on the story are evident.

Did I say it was my favourite? Oh, I did. The funny thing is, when I was getting into the hard-boiled style, I eulogised at length about James M. Cain (because I loved his work). My friend Tanty (that’s her name) said something to the effect of ‘you should read Chandler’ - Tanty was at that point halfway through The Big Sleep. ‘I’ll give it a go,’ I said.  ‘But it won’t be as good as the Cain’.

I don’t mind admitting I can be wrong sometimes.

So I finally got to see The Thing this evening - on the big screen (possibly the last chance to see it that way, thanks to the Universal release of the remastered print).

I’d already watched the movie earlier in the year (on DVD) but it didn’t diminish my enjoyment of it - especially John Carpenter’s creepy, lingering shots of empty store-rooms and impromptu labs, so effective in the cinema.

The great thing about seeing a film like this with an audience is those ‘jolt’ moments when you see many heads all jump up at once.  The best one this time was when Kurt Russell is doing the blood test - sticking a hot wire into samples. If you’re familiar with the movie, you’ll know the scene.

I’ve collected up these images to see for myself how meticulously Kubrick set up his shots for The Shining.  Click on the picture for a larger version and notice the recurrent vanishing point and deep focus, pulling our eyes into those cold, clinical interiors.

For years, I’d just assumed a real hotel was used for the main lobby of The Overlook (where Jack does his writing in the movie). When I recently read an article about the shoot, I was surprised to learn it was a set in an English studio.  I should have known that, given Kubrick famously never left England - even attempting to re-create Vietnam on London’s then-disused Docklands for Full Metal Jacket.

Those woozy opening sequences in The Shining - helicopter shots following the family car through winding roads - were filmed by a second unit.  Miles of film was used for that alone, and what hit the cutting room floor found it’s way into the ‘happy ending version’ of Blade Runner.